


On the Edge of the Finish Line

by orange_8_hands



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Het Relationship, Comment Fic, F/M, Gen, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Prompt Fic, Season/Series 04, Vessel Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 21:14:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orange_8_hands/pseuds/orange_8_hands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You aren't counting your chickens before they hatch, but you aren't going to pretend that's not an omelet you're cooking either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Edge of the Finish Line

**Author's Note:**

> I'm having issues with my latest fic so... This was inspired by a prompt now closed and already answered [here](http://yon-lougawou.livejournal.com/17550.html?thread=32398#t32398). "SPN, Ruby. _All of this can be broken, hold your devil by his spoke and spin him to the ground._ "
> 
>  **Warning** : Mentions of meat-suits. Mentions hangings and use of one ableist slur.

  
You like watching Sam. Like watching him splinter splinter break. You like watching him cut the flesh of a (sadly comatose, you miss screams inside your head) girl, lick the blood you pump through her brain-dead veins, suck it into him like mother's milk. You like how he fucks you hard and even better, the way he flutters his eyes your way and back afterwards, like he's checking to make sure he didn't hurt you, like you can't handle his frame pounding into yours, like you couldn't pour out of coma girl and into his body, curl up nice and tight against the skin and let all his dark spots come out to play.  
  
"I remember what it's like to be human," you once told his brother, and it wasn't a lie.  
  
(When you were alive entertainment was going to hangings in the square. Humanity has always been bloody.)  
  
He doesn't exactly take you out for fine dining (you rode around a waitress once, flicked through her memories of bad customers and what she'd done to them, it's no loss) but he doesn't mind sitting across from a demon when he eats in diners any more than he minds fucking one. You get french fries and lick salt from your fingers, feel it burn like tiny drops of acid down your throat. During the Summer of Blossoming (what? it's fucking funny) you used to steal his bottles and finish them off, lay in bed like an offering (he doesn't understand what sacrifice _is_ ) and wait for him to crawl over you, swing you against walls and into mattresses. Even after Dumber got back from Hell he'd find alleyways and wait for you to slip into them, push you against concrete and brick and stone and fuck you from behind, all your weight pinned by wrists he held high above your head, all his strength holding you up inches above what standing on your tippy-toes could get you.  
  
(Pro-tip: Get a taller fucking meat-suit next time.)  
  
There's countdowns in your head: how many days since you last saw Lilith, how many days since Dean came back cracked like a dropped snow globe (Hell just leaks out of him, and it smells tasty like desolation), how many Seals have been broken, how many hours pass before Sam has to take the next hit. You're too tense for this to be fun and yet you have to smooth your face out of smiling all the time. You can only be so worried at this point that Sam will lose his designated fury before he gets to the end; the dominoes have been falling for decades and there's no way you'll let him be the one to catch on before the last one is hit.   
  
He's adorable, really. They aren't arguments because why would you disagree, but he likes to talk about how this is the right thing, how he's doing it for Dean, how he's the only one to stop Lilith. Not like you'll be the one to tell him how Lilith is offering herself up on a platter; you know how to keep your mouth shut and nod along when it's needed. There'll be time for the truth later.  
  
But here's a secret you're hardly going to tell: you like Sam. Like watching him, fuck up and fuck you. Like watching him and his (literally) blood-lust eyes. You teach him petty tricks you picked up as a human, catch him in between moments with his brother when rage simmers out of him like wine and you're allowed to gulp it down whole. He's a meal and a headfuck and your future, and you're halfway to worshiping at his feet before Lucifer even arrives. The Boy King, and if that was once a nickname you didn't think he deserved he sure as fuck seemed to have learned how to embrace the meaning behind it.  
  
It's been a little under two years you've been dealing with him, stuck (for the most part) inside two meat-suits and a lot of pain, but you're near the end of the finish line and he's finally worth it.  
  
You've got a demon in the trunk of your car and a zealot in your passenger seat. You've got the last Seal broken and his only distraction borrowed by angels. You've got Lilith waiting to be martyred in a church and Lucifer waiting to be freed. You've got demon blood and a witch's tricks and a human body that even Alastair couldn't keep damaged forever.  
  
Most of all you've got a front row seat to the end of the world and an even better one for afterwards.  
  
(Victory is on the edge of your tongue, and you have just the right pressure to tip it over.)


End file.
